


Call Your Lifeline

by granite



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Crying, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grinding, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Suicide Attempt, not as sad as it seems i promise, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granite/pseuds/granite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not the only one who’s tried, okay? You wake up, desperate and guilty, and you just want things to be normal again. You want it to go back to the way it was,” he continues “but you can’t. Normal is what put you there, Enjolras. Something has to give.”</p>
<p>"No."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Your Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> T/W for referenced/implied suicide attempt. It doesn't happen in the piece, but is heavily referenced. So be safe. Title is from Temporary Love by The Brinks.

Grantaire is smoking outside when someone starts beating against the door. He ignores it, lets it continue into a rhythm while he sits on the balcony, he's been watching the birds on the railing. He's starting to think this one likes him. The beating continues, gets more incessant by the second, and becomes louder until he's forced out of his chair and back into his stuffy apartment.  


He crosses the apartment to stand in front of the door and lets the pounding continue for just a minute while he wonders who drew the uneven straw. The poor soul who came to check up on him. As though he’s the one that needs attention. He plasters a scowl on his face for show and throws the door open.  


It's Enjolras.  


Enjolras, who has got his hand—his fist—floating in the air threateningly. It drops against his side nonchalantly, like he wasn't just trying to beat a hole in the door wood-pecker style. He waits for Enjolras to explain his presence, but he just stands there silently.  


“Are you coming in, or?” Grantaire asks finally, bewildered. Enjolras immediately slips past him to stand in the living room. “How are you?” He asks Enjolras’ back.  


“I’m fine.” Enjolras snaps.  


“Okay, great.” Grantaire raises his palms. “No harm meant, just one of those social customs people ask each other when dropping by. You know, I’m fine, you’re fine, how’s your day going, how’s work?”  


“I quit.”  


“That’s great, how’s Combeferre?”  


“He’s fine. He won’t leave me alone.”  


“Can’t blame him. I heard finals are coming up, how’s that going?”  


“Fine.”  


“See? You’re getting the hang of it!” Grantaire says cheerily. Enjolras finally turns around, and he seems angry still. Grantaire is gearing up for a fight just looking at that face, can't even guess what he's done to piss the man off in the last couple of weeks. They've barely seen each other.  


“Can I kiss you?”  


“Um, sure?”  


So Enjolras does, pushes Grantaire a step back against the door and crushes their mouths together violently, goes straight for teeth and tongue and inches a cold hand beneath his shirt. Grantaire shivers and lets Enjolras maneuver a knee between his legs, rocks against it once and then does it again just to hear the desperate noise Enjolras makes. Granaire pulls his mouth away to soften the kiss, expects Enjolras to chase after but he doesn’t. He goes pliant, leaves his hands resting on the soft skin of Grantaire’s stomach and pushes his face into Grantaire’s neck. He expects biting or marks, but Enjolras just stills, rests cheek against pulse point.  


“Are you—” He starts to ask if Enjolras is alright, cuts himself off for their earlier exchange. “What did you come here for?” He asks instead.  


“This.” Enjolras mumbles into his skin.  


“Alright.” He pushes Enjolras away lightly, leads him toward the couch. Enjolras watches him sit down before he crawls on top of him, straddles his thighs and starts attacking his neck, works on biting a blood bruise beneath his jaw.  


“Fuck, please,” he rests his hand on Enjolras’ hip, runs a finger along the bone with the lightest of touches and Enjolras acquiesces, rolls his hips down soothingly. The friction jump starts his brain, he moves his hand to place it at Enjolras’ shoulder.  


“Enjolras,” He’s got a hand sliding against his chest, playing lighty with his nipples, trying to pull his shirt up and off despite Grantaire's complete lack of assistance while their hips grind together and it feels so good, God, but, “Enjolras—hey, wait. Fuck, stop please.”  


“What’s wrong?”  


“I don’t think we should—I don’t think we should do this.”  


“Why not?” He demands. And then he’s angry again, looks furious like he had insisting he was fine. Grantaire almost shrinks under the glare.  


“Because you just—” He trails off, losing the words. He puts a hand against Enjolras’ chest, over his heart in a vague gesture. Taps a heartbeat rhythm on his skin gently.  


“Because I what?”  


Grantaire looks down, thinks about how time stopped suddenly with Enjolras in the hospital, how he looked pale and sick, how he’s never seen Enjolras break. Enjolras was a mountain moved. And then the clock resumed and it was Enjolras waking up screaming after they pumped his stomach, it was Enjolras sobbing until his throat was raw.  


He raises his eyes, looks away, because he can’t reconcile that Enjolras with the one sitting on top of him, lips swollen and pink and hard against him. Not yet.  


“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says sadly, rising from his lap and sitting next to him on the couch. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d still want this.” Want me, is what he means. That makes Grantaire snap his head up.  


“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty, Enjolras, fuck.”  


“All the same.”  


Grantaire sighs and rises from the couch, offers Enjolras a hand which he takes, and holds it as they move outside, back to the balcony. He doesn’t know what Enjolras has been up to. Everyone recovers in their own way. Grantaire finds he welcomes the fresh air, in the last couple weeks it has been his only reprieve. His balcony faces East, and he has watched the sky turn red and then pink for 13 days. Grantaire offers him a cigarette once they both sit, and then lights it for him.  


“Was I right?” Enjolras inhales the smoke. “Are we—”  


Before he can finish the thought, Grantaire leans over and kisses him silent, a mouthful of smoke between them. It’s bitter. He can feel it soft and warm when Enjolras exhales it through his nose instead.  


“I want you,” it’s a whisper against his lips, and he presses their foreheads together. It's more intimate than he'd intended. What they had this far has not been so intimate. It has been rough and angry and passionate, and this is more than he wanted to let on, but he's cutting his losses. It has haunted him in the early hours, that Enjolras could have left without knowing how much this means to him.  


“Then why?”  


“Because I know this. What you’re trying to do.”  


“How could you know?”  


“You’re not the only one who’s tried, okay? I get it. You wake up, desperate and guilty, and you just want things to be normal again.” Enjolras closes his eyes, they’re so close he can feel when he begins to tremble. He puts a steadying hand on his shoulder and Enjolras shudders. “You want it to go back to the way it was,” he continues “but you can’t. Normal is what put you there, Enjolras. Something has to give.”  


“No.” Grantaire starts to open his mouth, to tell him it’s alright but Enjolras clamps a hand over his mouth, fast and hard. “You’re not what has to give, Grantaire. I still want this."  


“Oh.” He says, or tries to say, with a hand over his mouth.  


“I still want you,” he says again, “They let me go home, and you weren’t there.” He moves the hand from Grantaire’s mouth to his cheek.  


“I was giving you space.”  


“I know, but I missed you.”  


“I’m sorry.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras is climbing back onto Grantaire’s lap again.  


“Don’t be. Is this okay?”  


“Yeah.” Grantaire breathes.  


Then they’re kissing again, slow and easy. Enjolras reaches up to hold Grantaire’s head with both hands, breaks their lips to press a single kiss at his forehead, and then his eye, all the way down until he’s sucking at the juncture between jaw and neck. He lets his shirt be pulled off this time, the cool breeze contrasting the hot mouth on his chest.  


He gets a hand in Enjolras’ hair and pulls him back up, kisses him again until it turns filthy, until he’s got his tongue in the man’s mouth and is grinding up against him, making them both sigh.  


“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says before he gets a hand in Enjolras’ pants, runs his fingers along the hard length of him. Enjolras throws his head back, baring his neck and Grantaire groans, unbuttons the man’s jeans and gets his hands around his cock. Enjolras whimpers, pushes his hips against Grantaire’s hands and he thinks he could come like this, with Enjolras writhing against him.  


“Please,” he begs, and they’ve done this enough, so many times that Grantaire knows he likes it rough. He tightens his fingers and Enjolras gasps. He leans forward and swallows the sound, gets a grip on his hair and pulls his neck back, thinks about the way he's looked in the past, spread out on his bed and begging for Grantaire. Thinks about the way Enjolras goes wild with a hand around his throat, or choking on Grantaire's cock. He doesn't think he can bring himself to do it again now, so instead he works on marking the skin at Enjolras’ throat, gives them matching bruises, pulls his hair a little harder to make him cry out.  


"Grantaire," He thrusts his cock in Grantaire's fist, a request.  


“Yeah, go on. Come for me,” Grantaire says, and bites down on his neck hard. He does, moans low and comes on Grantaire’s hands, fully clothed and rocking his hips, desperate for more.  


“God,” Enjolras breathes, neck still bared and mouth hanging open, cheeks flushed pink.  


“Good?”  


“Yeah,” He slides out of Grantaire’s lap, sinks onto his knees and mouths at the fabric between his legs, looks up at Grantaire and waits for permission.  


Grantaire is quick to unbutton his jeans, lets Enjolras pull his cock out. He doesn’t waste time, just slides it into his mouth all at once and sucks hard.  


“Fuck, your fucking mouth.” He says, and Enjolras just hums, takes all of him until he’s pressing his face into Grantaire’s stomach and running his tongue along the base, bobs his head back to suck at the tip before swallowing him down again.  


“God, can I?—” Grantaire pleads. Enjolras looks up, maintains eye contact while he lets his jaw go slack. He thrusts his hips up, tentatively, and they both moan. He doesn’t look away, stares up at Grantaire while he lets the man fuck his mouth. He doesn’t last long, not after having Enjolras in his lap, and he warns him, starts to pull out but Enjolras takes his cock down his throat as far as he can and Grantaire can feel Enjolras' throat constrict around his dick on a swallow and he's coming, crying out loud enough the neighbors have probably heard but he doesn’t care, just watches Enjolras choke slightly on his cock and swallow his come.  


Enjolras tucks him back into his jeans and buttons them, stands up and offers him a hand, mimicking their earlier position. He takes it, and when they’re level he puts his arms around Enjolras’ waist. He doesn't want him to leave. He wants to hold him, so he does. He wants to have breakfast with him in the morning on the balcony with the red sun against their skin and make love to him.  


“Stay with me tonight,” he says.  


“Okay.” Enjolras responds, like it’s that easy, like all Grantaire ever had to do was ask. Maybe he did, he doesn’t know.  


They’ll figure it out.


End file.
